


That Which You Seek

by autumnangelwrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark fic, Harry has parents, Harry has siblings, Labyrinth AU, Multi, Prophecy, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-14 23:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21023645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnangelwrites/pseuds/autumnangelwrites
Summary: Slight Labyrinth AU.In a world where Tom Riddle never returned from his world travels, Harry Potter grows up happy and healthy. However, newly graduated from Hogwarts, Harry is faced with a multitude of career options that he isn't ready to face. With some gentle nudging from Headmaster Dumbledore, Harry decides to take some time off and get some perspective. What he finds is quite a bit different than what he expected.It's really not fair.





	1. Prologue

When Tom Marvolo Riddle is fourteen years old, he murders his pathetic excuse for paternity and the sniveling old fools that birthed him. It’s an easy thing to do, fueled by cold fury-turned-hatred bore from lonely nights and missed meals at the orphanage, from the tense terror-filled solemnity of pre-war London, from harsh jeers and well-placed hexes in his few tender years at Hogwarts. He sheds the guilt with the ease of a snake crawling out of an old skin, embracing his role as murderer wholeheartedly and ripping away part of his soul in a quest for immortality. He passes out from the strain of the ritual and awakes to a bone-deep ache, but he revels in it; a penance for his new status.

His next three come easier.

The quest for immortality continues, through his graduation from Hogwarts, through his denial for the Defense position. He uses his time at Borgin & Burkes wisely, taking a thorough inventory of the dark texts surrounding him. His horcruxes have done their job admirably; his immortality is assured, and he can rest easy at night, without the shadow of death pressing in, threatening to consume him. But the panic always comes back, fueled by phantom sirens when the air gets too still. Even Hepzibah Smith’s treasures can’t placate him. Horcruxes, he realizes, aren’t the answer. He’s already growing gaunt with the strain, his soul stretched too thin and his mind too easily pulled from the cool, calculating methods he had employed before toying with splitting his soul. He needs _more, _he needs _better, _and so Tom’s search continues, until he’s pushed so far that he’s gone through war-torn London, gone through the bloody entrails of Europe, gone through the dark shadows of Albanian forests, gone to places buzzing with so much magic he can’t even tell which direction he’s in, gone entirely. Somewhere in the magical depths of a forest no one can name, Tom Riddle disappears. 

He does not return.

The wizarding world moves on.

On July 31, 1980, Harry James Potter is born. There’s no war brewing. Harry grows up loved and the slightest bit spoiled, passed around between his mum and dad, Uncle Moony, Uncle Padfoot, and Uncle Wormy. The cottage at Godric’s Hollow is full of warmth and laughter, but it’s left behind as Harry gets older and begins to take up more space. It was only meant to be a starter home, after all. It stands tall, proud, and well taken care of as it is passed to another new, eager couple, and the Potters move towards new beginnings.

James and Lily Potter live. They argue and bicker and contemplate whether they got married too young, but they also laugh and make up and rekindle the passion they had as seventh year schoolmates. They arrange playdates with fellow parents and meet up for drinks with friends and advance along their career paths, and most importantly, they love their son with all their hearts. Harry is taken to the Dursleys only once, a Christmas Eve when he is two years old, and the visit ends abruptly after only half an hour when the toddler floats a delicious looking bit of pudding to himself. Harry never sees them again.

Harry doesn’t meet Ronald Weasley on the Hogwarts Express, doesn’t save him from dry corn beef sandwiches. In this life, Harry and Ron are already acquainted; Harry was taken into Molly Weasley’s homeschooling group after Lily returns to the Ministry to put her Charms mastery to work and James takes up his Auror assignments. Harry knows The Burrow almost as well as his own home, and he spends his days playing games with Luna Lovegood, Cedric Diggory, and the Weasley kids. He wrinkles his nose when Ginny tries to kiss him in the gardens, too young to properly think about things like kisses, and he eagerly adds his own mischief in with the twins’ pranks.

Harry’s five when his brother is born, then nine when his sister arrives, and he experiences all the fondness and annoyance younger siblings bring. His eleventh birthday brings his Hogwarts letter, and this time it’s met with immediate delight, but also some reluctance. He’s wanted to go to Hogwarts ever since he was old enough to comprehend the fantastic tales his mum and dad told him about it, but this time he also has a family he must leave behind. He doesn’t expect the ache of homesickness to be quite so fierce.

He’s placed in Gryffindor immediately, much to the delight of his parents. He’s happy, but it’s not exactly the relief it had been in another life; he’d been assured they’d love him just the same no matter what house he was in. Harry blends into the student body for the most part, only gawked at when he falls subject to a particularly flashy prank from the twins, and looked up to for his Quidditch prowess. He still makes the team his first year at Hogwarts, because Draco Malfoy is a terrible bully no matter how the past changes, and even with parents the young Neville Longbottom is just a bit soft. Harry keeps his grades up as well, mindful of his mother’s stellar academic reputation. Snape, never fond of children in any life, has no reason to take up the Potions post at Hogwarts; he is part of a team of Unspeakables specializing in potion experiments instead, and Harry is left with old Sluggy as a professor. His mum gives him tips on how to brew properly, and his dad gives him tips on how to properly suck up without looking like a prat, and Harry’s overall potions experience is much better all around. He’s not the top of his class—Hermione is still extremely clever, even if Harry was properly raised in wizarding society—but he’s a far cry higher in the ranks than he had ever been when he was placed at the Dursleys.

There’s no troll in dungeons to bind fragile friendships together, but Harry ropes Hermione into his group anyway. She’s bossy and swottish and Ron still says mean things to her, but this Harry is confident enough in his friendships to stand up to his best friend’s insensitivity. He sees her hidden back in the library sometimes, though, quiet and studious and a little bit teary because children are _mean,_ but she always has such a stubborn set to her shoulders that he can’t help but admire her. She’s not at the disadvantage she once was, with the pureblood mania dimmed somewhat without Voldemort to stoke it, but she’s subject to enough prejudice to make muggleborns shrink away from confrontation. Still, Hermione is determined to make people listen to her, accept her, and there’s something about her fierce determination and quick tongue that reminds him of his mother. He offers her a lifeline, in the form of casual conversation and a person to sit next to at dinner. She seizes it. Despite the absences of the troll, their friendship is just as strong.

(Harry is very proud of himself the first summer he brings Hermione home for a visit; she and Lily get on like a house on fire and he knows that he pegged her right. The bond between Lily and Hermione is swift and fierce, and after the first afternoon tea, Hermione is a constant presence in his home at any given holiday.)

This life wasn’t completely without struggles. Expectations poured onto Harry at every angle. His mother’s intelligence and his father’s athletic prowess. His uncles’ clever and inventive pranks. His teachers’ preconceived notions of what kind of student he would be, based on the ones they had taught before. There was no Mirror of Erised in this life, so Ron never told him about the inferiority he felt when compared to every family member, but it was something the two used to whisper about in the dorms, under heavy privacy spells while the other boys snored on. No matter what Harry did, he fell short in one way or another. In this universe he was loved, so loved, but he also resented it in the slightest bit. Pulled in too many directions. Unable to be Just Harry. This Harry was desperate to break out of the mold cast for him, but found himself predictable in every direction he tried to walk in.

This Harry wanted more.

This Harry found it.


	2. Chapter 1

“’Mione,” Harry whined, quiet enough to avoid the ire of Madam Pince, but loud enough to get his friend’s attention. Hermione remained steadfastly hunched over her book, unmoved. She’d become immune to the Potter charm years ago.

Early afternoon light streamed through the windows, reaching even the most private tables in the back of the library, crammed between haphazard stacks of ancient books waiting to be shelved and the furthest boundaries of the restricted section. It was warm to the point just short of stuffy and clouds of dust particles were rendered visible in the air. The setting would’ve been a bit nostalgic, for this was the very table Harry had first extended friendship to the solemn, stubborn, slightly teary eyed Hermione back in October of their first year, but the scene was too familiar for Harry to feel anything other than slightest annoyance at the moment. Harry had been slumped over for the past hour, face resting on an empty sheet of parchment meant to be filled with notes about goblin wars as Hermione plowed her way through seven years of History of Magic in preparation for their last NEWT of the year. She’d been ignoring him since mid-morning, excepting an occasional scoff at Harry’s inattention, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave her. She and Ron had had another one of their spats, an ill-timed insensitive comment from the redhead reacting poorly with Hermione’s usual exam panic, and Harry had sided with his male best friend during their last fight, so he was in Hermione’s custody this time. If he’d known lunch wasn’t going to be on the agenda, he may have rethought his visitation schedule; Ron never skimped on food.

“’Mione,” Harry tried again. A gusty sigh met the attempt, and despite the lack of words, Harry understood the threat behind it. He looked forlornly in the direction of sunlight. Another sigh had Harry straightening up in his seat. Hermione was already agitated, and if he didn’t proceed with caution, he’d be incessantly mothered until she was miffed with him too.

Definitely should’ve sided with Ron on this one.

Bored and utterly uninterested in trying to cram any more history into his brain, Harry let his eyes wander. Hermione positioned them well, with minimal distractions, and Harry knew better than to even think about looking in the direction of the restricted section. Madam Pince had a sixth sense for rule-breaking, and Harry found himself under her beady stare whenever he even _considered _something nefarious near her precious books. Normally he wouldn’t find himself so easily dissuaded from mischief, but with Hermione’s short temper and only a few days until graduation, Harry was doing his best to keep out of trouble, if only to avoid wrapping up his last year in a detention. So, with a lack of options available to him, Harry found himself gazing into the stack of books directly across from him.

Boring.

He shifted in his seat slightly. Hermione’s eyes snapped to him, but there was no relief in her full attention; her eyes were sharp and narrowed, and Harry quickly slumped back down, cowed, not daring to even bring up the subject of lunch at this point. Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it, then quietly snorted to herself and laid her book aside.

“I appreciate your _quiet _company, Harry,” she started, heavy on the sarcasm, “but I’m only halfway through the giant wars and you _know _that’s going to be tested.”

Harry did his best to look like he did, indeed, know that was going to be tested while simultaneously wracking his brain to remember when he’d ever attended a lecture on the giant wars. Sometimes Hermione liked to play with him, throwing in subjects that they’d never covered just to make sure Harry was listening to her properly. He was much better at guessing in other subjects, but something about History of Magic was so... _ugh._

Hermione rolled her eyes and added, “You know, the topic we spent three fourths of last year discussing?”

Right. Shit.

“Of course, ‘Mione. Everyone knows about the giant wars.”

Hermione gave him an unimpressed look. Harry valiantly tried to keep a guilty expression off of his face. It was harder than expected, and Harry was sure she had learned that look from Lily.

“If you aren’t going to be useful, at least go grab some books on the goblin wars for me. Those are a bit complicated, and those _are _going to be tested in depth, so I want to make sure I know as much as possible.”

Harry gladly seized the opportunity to do something with his nervous energy, getting up quickly and scampering a few aisles up and to the right. For reasons unknown, books pertaining to goblins backed directly into shelves from the Restricted Section, and Harry turned sharply and obviously into the last row of books before hitting the barrier. He thought he caught the gleam of Madam Pince’s glasses just as he disappeared amongst the books, but couldn’t be sure. The bloody woman was _everywhere_.

Once he was completely sure he was hidden by the books, Harry took the opportunity to stretch a bit. Quidditch and its accompanying practices had ended in early May, leaving plenty of time for exam prep and unfortunately little opportunity for exercise. Harry had ensured the Gryffindors would keep the Quidditch Cup—they’d yet to lose the Cup in Harry’s tenure at Hogwarts, despite a few messy injuries and an odd lost game, and Harry made damn sure that his last year as captain was going to follow in that trend—but the loss of the sport had hit him a bit hard. James and Sirius had been hinting that Harry should try his hand at the professional league, and Harry had been scouted by a few teams that seemed eager to have him, but most professional players seemed to be the Oliver Woods of the world and Harry wasn’t particularly _that _invested in the sport. The end of the season had seemed a bit final to him, and in the quiet moments Harry mourned it a bit. There were few things that could bring him the same exhilaration as Quidditch.

Harry sighed.

He was excited to be done with Hogwarts, for sure. He had enjoyed his time at school, but he missed having his own private room and pursuing things that interested him rather than following a timetable. Graduation was going to be a great relief, a milestone that Harry was happy to reach, but...

But it made things a bit too real, if he was honest with himself. He’d need to find a job after graduating, and Harry was at a bit of a loss for what to do. He knew himself well enough that he wasn’t in the right mindset to pursue any sort of masters, as his mother had suggested. He didn’t particularly want to join the Aurors as his father and Sirius had, despite the half-completed application on his desk; the job was a bit boring, with only the random petty crime or murder cropping up and the department had actually considered downsizing not too long ago. He surely wasn’t going to follow Hermione’s path into magical law, despite her strong efforts to pull him into creature rights and equal treatment for all witches and wizards. Ron was just as lost as Harry, and offered no help on that front. It was all a bit overwhelming.

The problem was, Harry had the grades and the connections to get into almost any job that he wanted, but what Harry really wanted was to find an interesting and fulfilling job he could picture himself staying in and earn it by himself. He partly considered teaching, if only because no one in his family had been a professor yet, but he was far too young to qualify for the position on merit alone, even if there was one open, and he had already determined that he didn’t have the drive to pursue a mastery at the moment. Plus, the only institution he could think to teach at would be Hogwarts, and he wasn’t sure that he was ready to come back just after leaving, even if it was somehow possible. He’d been battling with himself about careers since McGonagall had pulled him into her office for her final career counseling session—which amounted to more of a kick in the pants than counseling; she was irritated that he’d gotten no farther in choosing a career path than he had been in fifth year and she was not kind about showing it—and somehow he still came up empty.

_Not the time for a crisis,_ he reminded himself. If anything, he needed to be worrying more about his History of Magic NEWT than anything. He didn’t know anything about giant wars.

Letting out another gusty sigh, Harry picked a few books off the shelf to bring back to Hermione. It was more of a ‘fuck off’ task than anything, since Hermione hadn’t given him specific titles to look for and there was no earthly way that she’d be fitting five books the size of Harry’s torso into her study schedule when the exam was tomorrow, but Harry also didn’t want to chance her ire if he blatantly disregarded her instructions. She was always a bit unpredictable around exam season.

Deciding six books would be enough, he found one more tome, a pretty one with a rough slate gray cover, broken up by glossy blue writing in some other language—Hermione wasn’t going to read it anyway, what the hell—laying horizontally on a shelf at about waist height. He studied the new addition for a moment, oddly dazzled; it looked more like stone than paper, and he felt an incessant need to crack it open. Harry shook the impulse off; though insatiable curiosity was not new to him—examples included discovering a dragon egg in Hagrid’s hut, wandering into a nest of acromantula to have a chat, and riding a hippogriff around school grounds to name a few—the books were heavy and Harry didn’t have a way to crack it open even if he wanted to. Harry extended his clothed elbow awkwardly to rake the book toward him and trap it against his side, then carefully waddled back to the table with his arms full, sliding carefully into his seat and setting the books down as quietly as possible. Hermione didn’t even glance up at him when he returned, but Harry counted it as a victory. If he’d done anything to warrant a glance, he’d undoubtedly find himself bodily expelled from the library.

Harry checked one last mournful sigh—his bushy haired friend had passed into the territory of lecturing him when he breathed too loudly about three hours ago and he wasn’t completely without self-preservation instincts—and reached in his bag to pull out his own exam notes. It was a messy compilation of his meager class notes, mixed with the nice and neat outline Remus had sent along about a week ago. While Remus made no promises concerning their accuracy, both he and Harry were fairly sure the curriculum would be the same and Harry wasn’t above taking the risk. Remus had gotten an O on his History of Magic NEWT and that alone guaranteed that Remus’s notes were more valuable than anything Harry had put together himself.

Harry rearranged his book mound to give him a bit of space for his notes, getting a bit more serious about studying now that his notes were out and he’d moved around a bit. Hermione was smirking to herself a bit, not even pausing in her studying to snap at him for shifting books around, and Harry assumed that this had been her plan all along. He always resettled after a bit of a mental break, and Hermione was not above using his habits against him. Rolling his eyes, he nudged the gray and blue book out of the way, ignoring the curious tingle in his hand when the skin made contact with the rough exterior of the book. It was time to get serious. He had studying to do.

Just as he got through Remus’s succinct explanation of the important parts of the giant wars, Harry’s stomach gurgled. He sighed.

***

“We did it!” Hermione shrieked, throwing herself at Ron and Harry and wrapping them into a Hug of Death.

“Geh,” Harry replied, oxygen running low.

“Ack,” Ron agreed.

Hermione stepped back and beamed at them. Harry snickered as Ron’s ears went red, then swiftly sidestepped Ron’s flail of retaliation.

“It’s not like it’s a surprise, ‘Mione,” Ron muttered, grinning despite himself. There was something about being in the formal graduation robes, free to roam after a long commencement, that made the whole group of former seventh years giddy. Families were milling around, the Grangers and Potters and Weasleys likely forming quite the parade on their search to find their children, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their time separating anyway. They would still see each other regularly, particularly in the next two weeks when they had planned to do something together nearly every day, but this was the sort of thing that felt like a milestone. Like a memory. Harry did his best to memorize the moment: Hermione, with bright ribbons pinned over her regalia that denoted her as Head Girl and valedictorian of their graduating class; Ron, his robes a bit rumpled and his ears still pink, grinning at Hermione with a bit of embarrassment and a lot of fondness; the warm, familial atmosphere that surrounded the three of them; the grounds of Hogwarts, beautiful and wonderful and full of gleeful former students and their families.

It wasn’t a surprise, but it definitely felt significant. As Hermione’s bright eyes locked with Harry’s, he knew she felt it to. He was wholly unsurprised as she lurched forward to wrap them into another hug, and this time he laughed and hugged just as tight.

When their families found them, beaming and out of breath and looking a bit harassed, Harry gleefully accepted hugs from his parents, siblings, honorary uncles, and friends of the family. He allowed himself to be shuffled along, positioned for pictures and wrapped into fond embraces and even drenched in a few tears from the proud parents around him. The group migrated to the Great Hall eventually to enjoy the graduation feast. The Grangers, much like other parents of muggleborns, marveled at their first look at the school, while the alumni chatted about family-friendly shenanigans that took place in the halls of Hogwarts in their heyday. For once, Harry didn’t feel overshadowed among his parents and their friends. Perhaps it was because they were all on equal footing now, all graduates of the same prestigious school, and the stories felt more like he was being let in on an inside joke rather than talked down to. Harry marveled at the ease at which he melted into the group, no longer feeling like such an outsider, such a pretender, such a carbon copy of the generations before him.

All was well.

And then it wasn’t.

“So, time for the big decisions to start, eh Harry?” Sirius grinned, slapping him on the back. His godfather was cheery, not an ounce of mean-spiritedness in his words, but Harry still felt like he had been doused in cold water. “Going to be joining us at the Auror’s Department soon then?”

Panic began to creep up, a subtle shaky tingle down his spine. He would be spending one more night at Hogwarts, ending his tenure with the leaving feast that night and a nostalgic train ride back to King’s Cross in the morning before truly starting life as a graduate. He had foolishly thought that talk about the future would be waiting until then.

James laughed, missing Harry’s stricken look, likely because he was focused on Sirius. “As if! He’s got a reputation to live up to, you know. Youngest seeker in a century! That’s definitely the making of a professional Quidditch star.”

“Boys,” Lily sighed, rolling her eyes and trading long-suffering looks with Remus while Peter snorted at James.

“You aren’t following Hermione into law?” Mrs. Granger questioned. He’d made some noise about the idea a few years ago, right after his first career meeting with McGonagall, and Hermione must have written home about it before it became obvious that he’d been grasping at straws to get McGonagall off of his back. Hermione discreetly sent him an apologetic look, which did little to help. He felt... pitied. Childish.

“I actually thought he’d make a good teacher,” Lily mused, saving him from a surely embarrassing response to Mrs. Granger. “But it would likely require a mastery.”

“Professor Potter,” Ron snickered, before abruptly remembering that career choices weren’t joking material around Harry at the moment. He sent his best friend a grimace, which made Harry feel almost as bad as Hermione’s apologetic look.

Harry’s siblings, bless them, took the spotlight off of him. His sister Rose wailed dramatically at the thought of being taught by her brother, as she would be entering into Hogwarts when Harry finished his hypothetical mastery and began looking for a teaching position. His brother, Evan, loudly reminded everyone that Harry’s favorite subject would, unfortunately, lead him to a infamously cursed teaching position and he rather liked his brother, thank you very much. The theatrics of the two younger Potters effectively broke the interrogation, and Harry was thankful for their presence. The uncomfortable feelings persisted throughout the rest of lunch, though, and Harry was much more somber when it was time to bid his parents and little sister goodbye. He pasted a smile on anyway, and waved them away cheerfully. They didn’t notice the difference.

Hermione had tugged her parents out of the Great Hall a few minutes earlier, eager to give her parents a quick tour of the castle while they were allowed on the grounds, and Ron had followed her with a soppy look after she’d invited the Weasleys and Harry along, but Harry had waved them off with a vague excuse and fell in step with Evan to head back up to Gryffindor Tower. His brother was quiet, likely tired from his end of the year exams. Harry smiled a little; his brother was already twelve, but he looked so small to Harry in the halls of Hogwarts, in a way that he didn’t back at home. Harry wondered if he’d looked that small in his second year too.

Unsurprisingly, both brothers headed up the stairs towards the dorms, Evan barely awake after the excitement ended and Harry for want of nothing else to do. He bid his brother a quiet goodbye with a fond hair ruffle at the second year landing before continuing to the seventh year beds. As he’d hoped, the room was empty. Harry had yet to shake his bad mood and wasn’t looking forward to company. He tossed his glasses to the side table, then collapsed on his bed, reveling in the comforting softness. He pressed his hands to his eyes, let out a frustrated breath, then drew the curtains and did his best to not think for a while.

***

When Harry woke, there was a quiet bustle outside of the curtains and the sunshine that managed to peak through was golden with the late hour. Harry extracted himself from his bed, blinking blearily at Ron’s fuzzy figure. A white blob came closer and Harry felt something sharp poke him in the chest. He floundered for a minute before grasping his glasses out of Ron’s waiting hand. Ron, used to Harry’s post-nap daze, snickered and continued to toss belongings from a messy pile on his bed into his trunk.

“Sorry mate, but we’ve got twenty minutes until the leaving feast.”

“Urgh,” Harry said, then ambled to the washroom to splash some cold water on his face. He’d fallen asleep in his regalia robe, despite having the forethought to remove his glasses, and it was horribly rumpled. He stripped it off as he walked back into the room, revealing the ragged jeans and soft, well-worn button down he’d worn under the thin robe. Ron snickered at him again.

“Your mum and mine would have had a heart attack if they knew you were hiding that under your robe.”

“I was certainly more comfortable than you lot, wasn’t I?” To be honest, Harry was sort of impressed that that he’d gotten away with it, too. Ron’s grin didn’t diminish; he knew Harry too well to believe the bravado.

The two lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few moments, straightening up their things and readying themselves for dinner. Just before heading down, Ron put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, stopping him just inside the door.

“Hey,” Ron said uncomfortably, “sorry for not jumping in earlier. I know how uncomfortable it is to be ambushed like that and I didn’t say anything.” He gave a sort of helpless grin. “Better you than me, right?”

The nap had done Harry good. He still felt a little off, but he didn’t bristle up as he would’ve a few hours ago. Or maybe it was just Ron. “It’s alright, I get it. At least we’re looking into the void of adult responsibilities together, right?”

Ron’s expression flickered for a moment, but cleared so quickly it could have been the trick of the light. Still, for a second, Harry thought he looked... almost guilty. “Yeah, mate. Together.”

They headed down to the feast after that, a little giggly and feeling like first years as they rushed down the various flights of stairs in a valiant attempt to be on time for dinner, and Harry finally felt his mood lift.

***

Despite the fullness of his stomach, Harry couldn’t find sleep that night. He supposed that was his penance for taking a long afternoon nap. Somehow, though, it seemed right. Harry had been sneaking around the castle under his father’s invisibility cloak since James had gifted it to him on his eleventh Christmas. While Ron and Hermione were usually scrunched up under the cloak too, joining him in finding some kind of mischief, tonight it felt like something he should do alone. Probably for the best; it was clear that Ron and Hermione had been out together for most of the afternoon, and both of them—particularly Ron, Harry could hear his snores—were unlikely to react well to being woken for a nostalgic walk around the castle at half past two.

Feeling a little giddy and a lot nostalgic, Harry carefully crept out of bed and retrieved the cloak out of his trunk, then took off down the stairs and out of the portrait hole. The Fat Lady made sleepy noises of protest, but was apparently used to this treatment and settled quickly. 

Despite his eagerness to leave his bed, Harry didn’t have a destination in mind. He wandered down corridors, keeping an eye out for Mrs. Norris and Filch, saying goodbye to the castle in his own quiet way. Despite having a comfortable and warm home to return to, one with privacy and his mother’s cooking and sentimental items he’d collected throughout his youth, Hogwarts had its own special place in his heart. He’d gone on adventures here and made friends here and shared a truly horrible snog with Cho Chang and a far better snog with Cedric Diggory—at different times, completely taken by surprise both times—in the month the two had been broken up here. He’d spent a majority of his youth within these walls, and he would miss it terribly, much more than he had expected.

In his musing, Harry had wandered up to the Astronomy Tower. He looked around, suspicious, but it was late enough that any students looking for a quick hookup in the remote area had already gone to bed. Pleased, Harry dropped the cloak and clambered onto the perch overlooking the Hogwarts grounds. Ron and Hermione hated when he did this, but the view of the stars was unparalleled.

“Harry.” Harry’s heart dropped and his body nearly followed it. Sucking in a rapid breath, he balanced himself quickly by grabbing the rough stone wall beside him and scooted back a bit. That would be why Ron and Hermione hated it when he did this. He totally got it now. “Have some mercy on this old heart, will you?”

Ironic, seeing as his sudden appearance had almost killed him.

“Good evening, Professor Dumbledore.”

“I think it’s closer to morning, actually.” There was a quiet rustling nearby, and Harry turned slightly to see Dumbledore deftly settling in beside him. “As the headmaster of Hogwarts, I should inform you that no one is allowed to wander the corridors after curfew without permission. As your former professor, I find that I am glad to have the company.”

Harry grinned. He’d had limited interactions with Dumbledore, but he’d gotten in enough trouble and heard enough stories from his parents to feel at ease with the man. He’d always felt that way; Dumbledore had gone out of his way to greet him each time they passed each other, and Harry was sure there was some remaining fondness for James and Sirius that must have carried over to him. It also helped that Dumbledore seemed to have a healthy sense of humor when faced with troublemakers in general.

“I wanted to get one last look.”

“Understandable,” Dumbledore said sagely. “It is a marvelous view.”

They sat quietly for a few moments. Then Dumbledore spoke again.

“If you’d allow me, Mr. Potter, I—” Harry had been waiting for it. Surprisingly, there was something about the man’s grandfatherly manner that made it much easier to discuss.

“You’ve been talking to McGonagall.” Dumbledore gave him a knowing look. “I’m guessing that you already know this, then, but I’m not sure what I’ll be doing.”

Silence. This one was much harder to sit with.

“I do have an interest in Defense,” Harry defended, even though Dumbledore hadn’t said anything. “And I’m sure I could do the work for a mastery. I just don’t really feel like I’m ready to jump into an intensive program. And I’m definitely not up for pursuing law, I could barely make myself adequately research for this year’s essays.”

Again, Dumbledore made no comment. Still, Harry couldn’t seem to stem the words now that he’d started.

“Dad and Sirius have been talking about the Aurors, but honestly it’s not that interesting anymore. Not that challenging. Not that I _want _more crime, understand, but it’s still not a job I could see myself happy with. And the talk of professional Quidditch is nice, but I can’t see that kind of life for myself either. It was a nice stress relief, a fun way to break up the monotony of classes, but it’s just a hobby for me. I feel like if I was forced to eat, breathe, and sleep Quidditch, I think I’d just end up resenting it in the end.” He let out a frustrated breath. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I see.” Dumbledore was still staring out over the grounds, still using the same light tone he’d started the conversation with, despite Harry’s crippling failure to set up a profitable future for himself. It made Harry feel a little less like an irresponsible child. 

“You know, there was another student quite a bit like you,” Dumbledore finally said airily. “His name was Tom Riddle.”

Harry blinked.

“He was Head Boy back in the forties, right? And he won an award for special services to the school.” Dumbledore’s eyes cut across to him. Harry flushed a bit. “I’ve polished a lot of trophies during my time here, sir.”

Dumbledore laughed.

“Correct on both counts, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said cheerily. “I was the Transfiguration professor during that time, serving as Deputy Headmaster. Mr. Riddle was well accomplished, had several job offers in various branches. Quite a bit like you.” Harry ducked his head. “No need to be shy, my boy! You’ve worked hard and you’re well connected, there’s no shame in that. It’s what every teacher hopes for their students.”

“So what did Riddle do?”

“He didn’t take any of them,” Dumbledore said simply. Harry blinked, then squinted at the headmaster. Was Dumbledore telling him to stay unemployed?

“The point, Harry, is that Tom was well accomplished, yet he did not take the route that he was expected to. Deviating from the path that people expect you to take is not a personal failing. Many have done so, and it has worked out. You’re not supposed to have everything figure out right this second, my boy.”

Harry digested that for a second. The words warmed him slightly. It was a speech he’d heard from various people, but it’d never been so specifically directed at him before. While the anxiety about the future was still present, it eased just the slightest bit. He needed to stop measuring himself against others and find his own path to success.

Still... Old habits die hard and all that. “So what did Riddle do?”

“Ah.” Dumbledore waived a hand around airily. “I believe Tom took a trip through the Albanian forests. I’ve long suspected it had a profound effect on him.”

Harry hummed noncommittally. Then he pushed himself back and clambered off of the ledge. He could only take so much career advice at three in the morning.

“I appreciate the advice, Headmaster. Have a goodnight.”

“You as well.”

Harry wrapped the cloak around him and headed towards Gryffindor Tower, thoughts full. It was weird that Dumbledore decided to show himself tonight of all nights, especially so late, just to offer some speech about defying expectations. Harry must look more lost and pathetic than he thought. Still, despite the slight embarrassment he felt—because really, how desperate did he look?—it wasn’t the weirdest interaction he’d ever had with the Headmaster. Harry chocked it up to the general weirdness of the man; Dumbledore was a great wizard, but he was a little mad as well.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore watched him go, eyes no longer as twinkly and looks no longer as grandfatherly. Perhaps his interference was foolish. Perhaps Harry Potter would go in a different direction, and the mysterious path of Tom Riddle would never be discovered. But Dumbledore had always had a feeling about Tom, and Dumbledore’s feelings were never wrong.

The prophecy would come to pass as long as the eldest Potter boy would follow the breadcrumbs. Even if Dumbledore had to push a little bit. It was for the best, after all. For the greater good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is a lot of filler information and set up for the plot that really doesn't fit into anywhere easily. Harry will be the main focus of the next couple of chapters. Tom will come in a little later.


End file.
